Not all coloureds speak like dis
I have never been the victim of ‘real’, ie, overt racism. I was brought up in the platteland and we moved to Cape Town some years later. I attended a well-known high school in the northern suburbs of Cape Town: D.F. Malan.
I like to think I received a good education there, even though I had been pretty damn impossible and had never studied for exams.
But one thing that DF cannot lay claim to is my accent and vocabulary. Come on, I’m affie plaas af; that’s how plaasjapies speak. And my accent isn’t that ‘suiwer’, even; my accent contains a bit of the Cape Flats. But I’ll never admit it in real life.
So it’s difficult to speak to Afrikaansspeaking people. Even liberal ones. I don’t want them to make certain assumptions about me. Impossible, yes, that’s true. But some assume I had learn how to speak in high school. Yes, people whom we could call enlightened think that. And even though my pronunciation isn’t always all that. I’ve even been contemplating telling people I had attended Kasselsvlei Hoërskool, just so that 1) I won’t differ too much from other coloureds who hadn’t attend former Model C schools and 2) so that they can marvel at this girl from Kasselsvlei who speaks die Taal so wonderfully. See, that’s a form of racism. It isn’t the Eugene Terre’blance type of racism; it’s the sort of racism that no-one will admit to.
The South African media doesn’t acknowledge the different social classes in the coloured community. Worse, the media doesn’t want to acknowledge that there are coloured communities in other parts of South Africa, too. The image of the happy Cape Coloured is imprinted in people’s minds and they’re reluctant to let go of it. And the accent gets mocked by all, especially by us coloureds. I do it, too: I assure everyone that I do not speak like that.
So what should we do? What should I do? Well, I blog. I want to start a conversation about race, gender and social status in South Africa. Cause we need it. It’s time that we start talking to those outside of our circle. We now have the opportunity to create our own history, to write our own story to tell our great-grandchildren. And there are many tools that we can use: blogs, vlogs, podcasts — do SA use this, though? — community forums, and all the other social media tools.
It’s time that we have some positive role models. Sure, we have Jo-Anne Strauss and Felicity from 7de Laan… but we need more. How many more? Um, as many as possible until the average South African realises we are all multi-dimensional people. Until the time when the average South African won’t think all coloured people live in Mitchell’s Plain. Until the time when my landlady won’t enquire from me where I had gotten my accent. Until the time when the coloured actors in 7de Laan speak Afrikaans with their own accents, and not ‘white-sounding’ ones. And until the time when we – I, too — won’t even think there is something like a ‘white Afrikaans’ accent.
And after that? Well, we can’t ever stop.
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My struggle to find permalinks
I think I know a bit about the internet, Web 2.0 and everything that goes with it. I’ve only been reading blogs since 2006 but I have been compensating for it by blogging and commenting on others’ blogs. Please don’t subject me to a Web 2.0 test, though; I’ll fail it.
So I tried to tweet one of The Sartorialist’s blog posts last week. And the week before last, too. I just couldn’t understand why I was unable to. I gave up trying to find the ‘permalink‘ and decided to google the title, which gave me the permalink to the blog post. I was relieved. And I felt a little clever, too: I struggled, or ‘struggled’ with a problem until I found a solution that worked for me. Malcolm Gladwell would be proud of me. It wasn’t the solution I was aiming for but it satisfied me. And never mind that I discovered the solution accidentally.
But not knowing how to find the permalink on The Sartorialist, or on other such sites, bothered me. I wondered whether the site owner didn’t want people to link to specific blog posts. It’s Blogging Basics 101 to make things as easy as possible. It’s also part of netiquette to give users a direct URL to a specific post. So I wondered whether I am the st00pid one. ‘Tis possible, you know.
And then I had one of those near-Eureka moments: I got it. Well, I was probably just bored. Only boredom could’ve made me click on the time in the blog post.
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Joy-Mari’s social media mantra
I <3 Social Media. I’m sure I was one of the first South Africans to get a Flickr Pro account [citation needed]. I make jokes that only other geeks would appreciate and I rush to try the newest Beta of whatever.
And I’ve matured slightly online. Slightly.
So here’s my Social Media Manifesto.
- I don’t have to follow you back. I use certain criteria and decide whether I want to follow you. This could take 2 days, or it could take 2 months. Understand that it’s about me and my quest for information, entertainment and more information.
- I won’t feel bad if you do not follow me back. iPromise.
- This is me. I’m human. I make mistakes and I say st00pid things sometimes. So do you. But I also hand out champagne to my new tweeple
- I tend to go overboard with a new service but that phase only lasts 2 or 3 months. (Which is actually a damn long time…)
- I try to interact with my ‘friends’ and my ‘followers’. This does not me a stalker make.
- I don’t do Facebook apps.
- Connect with me on Twitter, Friendfeed, Tumblr or LinkedIn. But I’m iffy about accepting more Facebook ‘friends’, especially those whom I have never met IRL.
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What being coloured means to me
- Being coloured means being watched by the store security guard much more closely.
- Being coloured means being expected to like Gatsbys.
- Being coloured means Afrikaansspeaking tannies are surprised about your ‘nice’ accent.
- Being coloured means the waiter assumes you’re European when you order steak tartare or a ristretto.
- Being coloured means spending too much money on hair relaxers and other straighteners, never mind the amount of time it takes to blow dry your hair.
- Being coloured means you were probably brought up on the wrong side of the tracks.
- Being coloured means people are surprised that you hadn’t been brought up on the wrong side of the tracks.
- Being coloured means people are surprised that you blog about grammar, language and stuff.
- Being coloured means car guards call your white friend Ma’am but they call you sista.
- Being coloured means being ashamed to admit you like R&B music to your white friends.
- Being coloured means people expect you to be happy. All the fucking time.
- Being coloured means getting shitty service.
- Being coloured means other people call you a ‘coloured’.
- Being coloured means you have to be strong[er].
- Being coloured means you might codeswitch.
- Being coloured means you live in two different worlds.
- Being coloured means having friends assure you that “you’re not like those other coloureds”.
- Being coloured means the SA Media only shows one side of your culture: the Cape Coloured.
- Being coloured means you should watch Girlfriends, not Sex and the City.
- Being coloured means denying that you’re a typical coloured.
- Being coloured means everyone dismisses your culture as non-existent.
- Being coloured means you have few positive role models in the media.
- Being coloured means you’re called a ’so-called coloured’.
- Being coloured means your blog does not get much linkjuice.
- Being coloured means having a R10 000 chip on your shoulder. Always.
- Being coloured means that ‘flesh colour’ stockings and bandages are too light.
- Being coloured means having to work harder at being nice.
- Being coloured means you always wonder “Is it cause I’m coloured?”
- Being coloured means people think you’re on Mxit when you’re posting a link to Twitter or Friendfeed.
- Being coloured means getting the table in the corner near the kitchen.
- Being coloured means you’re the only POC (person of colour) in the restaurant.
- Being coloured means your [white or black] friends don’t always get your cultural references.
- Being coloured means no-one comments on your blog.
- Being coloured means kak espressos and not getting a ‘Thank you’ from waiters. Ever.
- Being coloured means people are surprised that you read [books, blogs, newspapers, magazines].
- Being coloured means you wonder — sometimes aloud — where the coloured bloggers are hiding.
- Being coloured means people roll their eyes when you say something is race-related.
- Being coloured means you should go to Galaxy, not Asoka.
- Being coloured means acting more white when with whites, and more black when with blacks.
- Being coloured means being invisible.
- Being coloured means the waiter is surprised at the small/modest/large tip you give.
- Being coloured means people assume you got your accent at a Model C school.
- Being coloured means people assume you are religious.
- Being coloured means people assume you speak Kombuis Afrikaans.
- Being coloured means people assume you speak Kitchen English.
- Being coloured means ’shopping while coloured’, ‘driving while coloured’, hell, even ‘walking while coloured’.
- Being coloured means hoping to marry a white person so that the future children will have lighter skin, grou oë en ‘n betere draad hare.
- Being coloured means having to defend AA and BEE ad nauseam.
- Being coloured means not knowing who you are.
- Being coloured means tipping too much cause you want better service next time.
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Would overtipping waiters prevent bad service?
If you follow me on Twitter — @joycloete — you’ll know that customer service is something I tweet about often. It could be because I used to be in some sort of customer service job for more than 6 years. Or it could be because of that R10 000 chip on my shoulder. I have been in search of that perfect shot of espresso or — if I can find it — ristretto since the beginning of last year.
So I go everywhere: restaurants, coffee shops, hotels. And I sit down, hoping to get good bean juice. And sometimes I’ll get it, too. Good bean juice. But what I get most often is indifference from the waiter. And that’s on a good day. A bad day could mean not getting a ‘Hi’; it could mean getting a table tucked away from the rest of the diners; it could even mean being called ‘dear’.
True, these aren’t all signs of racism. But when all of them apply to a single dining experience you start to wonder “is it cause I’m coloured?”. And then you wonder whether it would help to enlighten the waiter or the manager. It’s often the small things you notice: not getting as much attention as the rest of the diners; a frown on the waiter’s forehead when you order or ask for anything; and not being offered bread or given a menu.
I’m a single POC woman, which means I dine alone. Mostly. I could spout many statistics to show that waiters and retailers do not care much for my group. Come on, we eat alone, which means the bill won’t be high. We’ll probably sit there for more than an hour reading the newspaper or posting updates to Twitter. And — stereotype alert — we’re not great tippers (this is true for most of us, btw). We’re difficult, too: we’re angry coloured women.
So I’ve been trying to dispel this stereotype. I’m not overly pleasant but I’m possibly one of the better customers your brand can have — I know what I want and I’m not afraid to ask for it. Mediocre service gets 5% – 10% – if that much — and a love letter about why I had given that little. I know how waiters moan when they get pathetic tips; I used to be one. Good service gets 15% – 20% and excellent service gets anything from 25% – 40%, depending on the size of the bill. On a few occasions I have even tipped the waiter more than 100% on a small bill.
Now, see, 25% – 40% is waaaaay above the average. Hell, most waiters would be happy with a 15% tip. But I somehow got it into me that tipping more than the average would get me better service. Wrong. It doesn’t. Whoever told you that is a fool. Or the person who told you that is white and has probably never had to deal with stealth racism.
POC should really up the amount they tip for good service. Come now, people. There’s no need to go overboard. Just tip decently so that we can get rid of these stereotypes. And then we can finally enjoy an espresso at the fancy restaurant and not demand to see the manager.
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I want to write too many blogs
Back in Two thousand and great I had this crazy want; it isn’t a need. I want to have 4 or 5 well-written blogs. And I want to write all of ‘em. I’m well on my way there, too. But should I?
Two of my blogs now have a Page Rank of 4. W00t. I’m impressed with myself. But that isn’t all one should aim for, right? I blog because I like writing and because I’m fond of ideas, especially my own. Being included in international blog roles also help the old ego. Erm, the ideas. Well, I get these ideas when I’m reading others’ blog posts; I get them when I eat my All Bran Flakes in the morning; and I get them when I walk to work in the morning. They come easily most of the time. And then I want to share ‘em with the wwworld.
But how many blogs should one have? I have been reading Law and Letters for some time. Belle’s writing is … better than mine will ever be. And she manages to have a multi-discipline blog, so why can’t I, too? I have been thinking of combining all my interests — there are many, reader — into one blog. I would write about race, feminism, grammar, the digital life, economics and politics. In one blog. Is that too much? And hey, let’s not forget fashion theory. Just to shake things up a bit. Just to show my frivolous-cum-vulgar side. Oh, and ‘cum’ does have the same pronunciation as that-word-which-we-do-not-use-in-polite-company.
Sure, I can use Twitter to tweet my thoughts. It’s a great thing, this Twitter. But I think I’m renewing my love relationship with blogging during this Two thousand and fine. And I’ll consider having only two blogs instead of the five I had planned during the last few hours of Two thousand and great 
Happy Two thousand and fine!
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